How Deep The Bullet Lies
by R. Scott
Summary: After this evening of dark, endless agony, of secrets and lies and hidden thoughts, of terror, it seemed like she was about to let everything go...The secrets of Artemis lead to a dark night for Gene and Alex.


**A/N: **Hi! So, wrote this ages ago and thought I might as well get it posted. Angsty, a little violent in places...make of it what you will. I'm churning out a lot at the moment thanks to the brilliant new series so you might be hearing more from me sooner than you think. :o)

Hope you enjoy.

Ruby :o) x

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_Saturday 23rd February 1982_

_1:06am_

He leant over the sink, the nausea finally starting to pass, before lifting his head up slowly so he could get a look at himself in the foggy mirror. It felt a lot worse than it looked. He didn't know if he was thankful for that or not.

The worst was the huge mottled bruise that stained a good portion of the top half of his face…he pressed his finger to the top of his cheek and grimaced, retracting it instantly. The rest of it wasn't as bad as he'd envisioned. A few painful looking cuts, one over his split, dry lips and the others on the side of his eye…dried blood sticking to his hair line but that would come out once he'd had a shower. He licked his lips and spat out the blood, the taste repulsive, and watched as it swirled down the plughole. Yes, to look at, he knew he'd had worse than this. He didn't care how he looked though. It felt like his head was slowly splitting in half one excruciating second after another, his insides being torn apart by wolves; it felt like he was dying. It didn't matter what the hell it looked like. The more he mulled it over in his head the more he knew that he'd never had worse.

He braced himself over the sink for a long moment, staring at the grime that ran along its rim, trying not to sway from side to side, before pulling himself upwards and walking hesitantly back into the bedroom. Terrified of what he would find.

To his slight horror, she was still standing. She hadn't moved. She was still stood in the centre of the room, her hair wet and the only dressing gown this horrible pub had to offer thrown over her shoulders. His face contorted in anguish.

"Hey," he said, quickly marching over to where she was stood, standing in front of her. He pulled the thin fabric tightly around her, and ran his hands quickly up and down her arms in an attempt to warm her up. "Get into bed, alright?"

She stared blankly at a spot behind him, her eyes glassy. She looked like a walking corpse. If he'd thought his injuries looked bad they were nothing in comparison to hers. The sight made him want to scream. She'd had her moments but none like this. She'd been close to dying before. But this looked like she'd already died…She'd spent so long in the shower…the water must have run cold…he swallowed, in complete agony, and stared down into her desolate face.

"Christ…we need to get you to a hospital…"

"No." she said in a tiny voice, the first thing she'd uttered since they'd arrived in this dump. He held his breath. "No. They'll only ask questions."

He couldn't summon the strength to glare at her, or to argue with her. She was right, of course. But the longer he looked at her the more terrified he became, because her health seemed to be deteriorating by the second and there was literally nothing he could do about it. He was breathing heavily, he realised, the more he thought about the what ifs the more desperate he was turning…

"Get into bed." he said again, quietly. "Just get some sleep."

But she wasn't moving, and he soon realised that he was holding her in place, stopping her from going anywhere. He pulled himself away from her and let her find her own way to the bed, watched as she lowered herself slowly into a seated position, before lying down on her front on top of the covers. He had the urge to pick her up and tuck her in but he thought she wouldn't appreciate it.

He hesitated before heading back to the bathroom- but realised that the hot water was probably used up. He couldn't find it within himself to care. He just sighed, turned around, sat down heavily on the wicker chair by the bed, and watched her.

***

_Friday 22nd February 1982  
_

_11:09pm_

Light blinded him for a brutally painful instant, pure white, but it lasted only a few seconds. When it vanished, he could see nothing at all…only this endless, abysmal blackness, a darkness that seemed to devour everything in it's path. He thought he'd lost his sight altogether then, and that thought attacked him with a frightening and sudden wave of dread, but it passed. It left a numb sensation throughout his body, like surfacing at last after spending an eternity lost amongst murky, endless depths. He squeezed his eyes shut against it, opened them again slowly and noticed the fiery, numbing agony, pin-pointed at a spot on the back of his skull. His surroundings had become a little more in focus, but everything seemed a blur. He was only able to squint, his eyes mere slits as his face contorted with an excruciating pain.

He went to move a hand to the back of his head, knowing that when he drew it away it would be stained with blood- but found he was unable to move his arm at all and instead felt a tight hurt pulling at his wrists. He'd been restrained in some way. Something was holding him back. The rare yet horribly familiar feeling of raw and intense panic ran through him then, as his barely distinguishable memories fought for attention in his head. He struggled again, more alert now, his surroundings becoming ever more clear. He heard his ragged breathing at a hideously loud volume, echoing in the vast emptiness surrounding him…he groaned as it sent another agonising pulse to his aching head…

"Mr. Hunt."

He grimaced, clamping his eyes closed again, his entire body now screaming in agony, his head burning with it. The voice pierced his temples like a hammer to the skull, and he gritted his teeth together to keep from crying out. He tried to speak in response but found that, for the moment, he couldn't utter a sound. His throat felt like someone had ripped it apart and set it alight.

"Do you know why you are here, Mr. Hunt?"

This was a different voice, just as blank and lifeless as the one before it. He let out a shaking breath, tried to move again but failed, noticing finally that his arms were behind his back. He was sat upright…on a seat of some kind, a cold metal thing that dug into his back, and he could tell already that it was bolted to the ground. He twisted his hands in another painful motion and felt a sting, almost a burn…but the bony, ice cold sensation told him unmistakably that these were handcuffs, not rope. There was no point in straining against it, he knew, but he tried again anyway, winced at their grip on him, the sharp sting as it held his arms in place fuelling a rage that had was already starting to rule his senses.

Disrupted memories and observations were slowly starting to form a picture in his head. The dull, inert voices of these strangers, the all-consuming darkness, the endless echoes, the handcuffs. In a moment of painful clarity, he knew then exactly what was going on.

"I don't fucking have it." he forced out in a hurry, coughing as the words tumbled out of his mouth. He felt the sting on his lips, ran his tongue along his gums and tasted his own salty blood. His jaw was set in fury.

"So you are aware of our current situation?"

He let out short, shallow breaths through his nose, tremours coursing through his body, and he shivered suddenly, sweat suddenly gushing from every pore. He felt his shirt sticking to his clammy skin, noticed that his suit trousers had been torn; his boots were ripped at the seams and covered in muddy stains. He strained at the cuffs again in futile desperation, suddenly feeling trapped, like a wild animal in a crate, a ferocious beast chained to the wall.

"We deeply regret having to resort to these measures but it seams that the both of you have left us with no choice, Mr. Hunt."

More memories hurtling to the front of his head, making him sick, vomit worming its way up his throat. He swallowed it down.

"I don't _have it_." he spat out again, his voice so low he could barely recognise it as his own. Then, with a grim and bitter sort of smile- "You're barking up the wrong tree."

His head was yanked back, someone pulling at his hair, and he let out another moan as the pain in his skull made the world around him swing completely off kilter.

"Tell us where it is, Mr. Hunt."

He couldn't see their faces but he knew exactly who they were, _what _they were. Unfeeling, merciless, cold. Just doing a job that made no sense to him, that wound him up like nothing else. On some level, he'd actually expected them to storm into his life again, knew that walking out of Edgehampton with everything intact wasn't the end of his troubles, just the start.

He hadn't even read it. That was the worst thing. He'd completely forgotten about it.

He forced himself to smile at these faceless idiots again, fighting against the agonising sensation pumping through his veins that felt like it was slowly destroying him, cell by cell.

"Do you even remember what it's like to be a human being?" he said, letting out a bitter laugh. "Pfft, you make me bloody laugh. Go on then, kill me. Put me out of this _misery_. Get rid of that nuisance that's been hanging around your precious little hidey holes, if you think it'll help the cause."

He mentally tried to work out how much of a state he was in, tried to remember what they'd done to him. The remote possibility that it wasn't quite as bad as it felt was shoved aside as he felt a boot plummet straight into his gut, sending him hurtling forwards only to be yanked straight back again. The world spun, shook, made him want to throw up. He coughed it up, spat at the shadow of a person before him, closed his eyes.

"Blimey. Wouldn't have had you anal bastards down for good old fashioned _brutality-_"

Another blow, to his jaw this time. He appeared to be completely numb now. They'd broke through every physical barrier and he found himself revelling in it as their fists collided with his bruised and beaten frame, felt a strange kind of comfort in them because he'd felt it all before, ten-fold. He knew then in a twisted clarity every one of his injuries, a blow to the back of the head, a kick in the back as he'd fallen to his knees, a kick to follow and over and over it went from there. He could remember now. He'd been in the men's room…but not at the station, not anywhere he thought instantly recognisable. The pub. That was it. He'd been in the pub all afternoon. It had been his first day off in months-

Everything went utterly black as something hard and heavy slammed down onto his skull and he cried out, like an animal, then positively growled through gritted teeth, his eyes stinging as his faltering vision restored itself. He let out a bitter laugh then, this situation suddenly so absurd to him. That should have knocked him out, he thought. But then again…apparently they knew exactly what they were doing.

"Listen to me," he gasped, doubled over, the handcuffs holding him back the only things keeping him from sinking to the ground. He pressed his lips together quickly as he tried to force down the agony but ended up groaning anyway. "Listen to me. You've got it wrong."

"Mr. Hunt, you are only making things difficult for yourself and your colleague. Give us the information we need and we need not take things further."

He struggled to catch his breath then, each one doubling the pain in his chest. He thought it might collapse then. Colleague. His colleague. His head was spinning now…black and white spots blinked before his eyes as his memories transformed from fragmented distortions into something of painful, heart stopping clarity.

Alex. He hadn't seen Alex today.

He let his head fall down, unable to hold it up any longer, and it seemed to shatter as his chin hit his chest. They hadn't touched him now but this was worse, realisation was worse, understanding exactly what was going on had ripped any feeling he had from him, leaving just a choking, ice cold emptiness in it's wake. He tried to force some meaningless words out but all he could manage was a strange groan, like a drunk, like a dying animal.

"I'm sorry?" he heard, the words echoing in his skull. He tried again, trembling suddenly.

"Where is she?"

"Would you like to see her?"

Blinded suddenly by his own rage, he strained helplessly against the handcuffs, head still lowered, before slumping pathetically back into the seat. He couldn't feel the scars on his wrists any more, or the expansive bruises that we scattered over his body, bruises he knew were already turning yellow. He could feel nothing now.

"Let her go." he managed to say. "She…we don't 'ave it. Neither of us do."

They didn't say anything in reply. Perhaps they were simply staring at his broken form, and he knew how pathetic he must have looked, how completely without hope, how utterly shattered. He tried to strain his eyes again but still all he could see was complete darkness, the outline of his own body and the shadow of a figure a few feet before him. He wondered then, for the first time since he'd regained consciousness, if he was in over his head.

And then there was a skull-shattering sound, a screeching, scraping noise, like nails down a black board, like rusty metal down a brick wall, and he let out a cry as his head thudded at a pace. Light blared into the room briefly and forced his eyes to shut tightly against his will, but after another loud _slam_ followed by a scuffle, the room was descended into darkness again.

When he opened his eyes, the figure behind him pointed a torch ahead of them both, casting light as a hooded figure was placed in front of him, forced onto their knees. He felt his jaw clench and bile rise in his throat as they ripped the cloth covering her face.

He let out a shuddering breath, appalled at the sight of her and unable to hide the fear that had gripped him in that moment. Her jaw was set defiantly but he could see she was shaking terribly, her eyes red raw and blood dried on her lips. She didn't say anything, didn't scream or sob. She stared at him with an intensity that seemed to cause her pain, trying to talk to him without uttering a word, trying to tell him something but he couldn't understand her, couldn't see past the horror of the bruises staining her face, her swollen lips, couldn't help but envisage the rest of her battered body. He was clenching his fists; twisting his wrists against the metal and feeling blood sliding along his hands.

He stared at her miserably for what felt like a lifetime, keeping her eyes locked on hers and letting out shallow breaths, trying to regain some control, trying not to lose what little he had.

"Are you ready to tell us Mr. Hunt?"

And then he saw it- the slightest movement from her, the slightest shake of her head.

He didn't know why this file was so very important to her, why she was apparently willing to risk both of their lives for it. She knew more about it than he did- had they questioned her? They must have done…it was the only way to explain her horrendous injuries…

And he'd been lying all this time for no real reason, if only the satisfaction of winding them up, of pushing them to their limits. These bastards didn't deserve any information whether he had any or not; that had always been his logic during the rare times he'd been in this situation before. He'd been lying to them. He knew exactly where it was.

She had it. And she'd hidden it where no one would look…

_Don't make me do this_ he thought. He'd been lying for hours yet now he was being asked to the thought killed him. He could see everything that was about to happen, every further lie he told followed by every blow to_ her,_ in his place. He knew their mind games, he knew exactly what they were doing and he felt more helpless with that knowledge than he could ever remember feeling, locked still in her defiant, forceful gaze. She was pleading with him silently, he could read perfectly her every expression but how could he go through with it…how could she expect him to do this…

"Mr. Hunt."

A long, unbearable pause.

"I don't have it."

He heard it first- the stinging slap as the back of the stranger's hand collided with the side of her face, and she couldn't help but cry out as she fell to the side, dragged back up by her hair to face him again. He couldn't suppress his anguish and he found himself struggling violently against the handcuffs, ignoring them as they cut further into his wrists, straining helplessly towards her only to be snatched backwards, left breathless and ill.

She moaned slightly, clearly trying to hold it down but blood started to slide from her lips, staining her teeth. He had to look away from her as she stared at him with that nauseating, penetrating gaze- he couldn't do this…

"Are you ready to tell us Mr. Hunt?"

He sat there in silence and brought his gaze back towards her with an agonising slowness. She was shaking violently now, trying to stop her self from yelling out…trying to stop herself from crying…

He didn't say anything; he stared into her eyes instead, wanting to yell at her, scream at her because how could she be so stupid, how could she want it this badly? _Don't make me do this_ he wanted to tell her again. _Please don't make me do this-_

In a brutal instant they twisted her arm until inches from breaking and she let out a gut-wrenching sob, like a howl, closed her eyes and couldn't stop the tears from escaping her.

"_Stop it…_" he muttered feebly, and to his horror she gazed back at him, tears and blood on her pale face and cried hurriedly;

"Gene, don't tell them anyth-"

He let out a strangled, primal noise himself then, to block out the crash as they brought another blow to her skull. He could feel himself swaying in the chair, the sound of her desperate voice still resonating in his head, the image of her sunken face burnt under his eyelids. He struggled to catch his breath then, his chest packed with tar, his head crumbling to pieces as it fell limply once more-

They dragged him back up by the hair, forced him to look at her. But she couldn't look at him any more, her head bowed low…she didn't want him to see. Because she knew that if he saw her now, he'd tell them everything. She was torturing him.

"Alex-" he tried pathetically, his heart in his throat, but she cut him off.

"Please don't tell them…" she whimpered, a tiny, pathetic voice, a voice that wasn't hers, a voice that he'd never heard her use before. It only served to make him more desperate to get her out, more frantic to tell these fuckers whatever they wanted to know. He stared levelly at her, almost angry with her. A woman- such an obvious weakness really. He almost felt ashamed but he was too broken. He couldn't feel anything at all.

"Mr. Hunt?"

They could predict his every move. He couldn't talk his way out of it. He didn't want to. He didn't care about that fucking file; he didn't care why the hell it meant so much to her. Her life was worth more than this, her life was more important than anything else. She couldn't see it though. _Why couldn't she see it_?

And then with one final twist of her arm until something cracked, one last horrific, blood-curdling scream from her bloody lips, he'd reached his breaking point.

"_Stop!_ For Christ's sake_, FUCKING STOP!"_

_***_

_Friday 22nd February 1982  
_

_12:03am_

The first sensation he felt was the ice-cold wind hurtling straight through his bones and, through excruciating agony he couldn't begin to acknowledge, he forced himself to his feet, staggered forward through the arctic air and vomited.

He hadn't even registered where he was, hadn't gone over anything- but the nausea of the past few hours had gripped him suddenly with a fierce intensity. He was outside. He was stood on grass...in some sort of field. He was numb with the cold, midnight air and he stood up straight again, his entire body pulsing with torture, and he pressed his palms to his eyes, tried to block it out, blinded by black dots.

He'd been dumped here, he figured. It had all gone black once they'd got what they wanted from him and he couldn't remember anything afterwards…his head was stuffed with cotton wool, his lungs were burning…

He let out a painful, wild cry into the empty air then, as if it would relieve some of the suffering, and forced his eyes back open. He looked around, shut away whatever he might be feeling, tried his hardest to be logical-

And almost collapsed with relief when he saw her, stood swaying on the grass not more than four feet away.

"_Fuck."_ was all he could manage then, his head falling into his hands, and he tried not to fall straight back onto the ground because he knew that if he did he wouldn't be able to get up again. This whole thing felt like some kind of bizarre nightmare, he felt like he was living in a dream, a dream he couldn't force himself to wake up from no matter how loud the constant yelling in his head was. He pressed his fingers against his face again, blocking it out, telling his brain to shut down for five_ fucking seconds. _

He realised then that they'd been left in the middle of nowhere and, probably more significantly, they hadn't been killed. He guessed they had a 'waste not' policy, or maybe this endurance was just an extension of the torment they'd been put through. He felt nauseous again as the image of her broken face surfaced.

Hesitantly, he slowly turned his head towards where she was stood. He noticed for the first time that she was only wearing a silk black shirt- her legs were bare. They must have taken her from her fucking bed.

She was holding onto her arm. They must have broken it- the cracking of bone still resonated in his head, along with her heart-stopping scream. She looked as though she was about to crumble in a heap to the floor and he found that he'd already started walking heavily towards her-

"Don't you come near me."

He halted in his tracks and frowned at her, lost for words momentarily, a grim darkness rising in his tired eyes. He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't even retort- he just stood there and waited for the inevitable backlash, waited for her to blame him for it all somehow, waited for her screeches and subsequent sobs. She was shaking her head, still swaying, unable to support herself and he strode forward, reaching her just as she lost her balance.

"Get off…" she muttered, trying to push herself away but falling limply back into his arms, sending a thudding pain through his chest once more. He heard her let out a muffled cry as her arm brushed against his. She groaned; "I said get _off…_"

"Listen to me…"

"No. _No!" _she yelled, summoning the strength to hit him painfully in the chest and letting out a primal sort of growl. "You've ruined _everything!"_

He gripped her wrists, for a moment not caring if he hurt her at all, and said with as much force as he could "Stop it."

"All you had to do was _sit there! _They wouldn't have killed me! _I could have taken it!_ And now…" another strangled sob full of utter rage. "It's all fucking _ruined!_"

Her screeching had got progressively louder and he kept his eyes shut against the force of it, felt her spit flying onto his face. His jaw clenched painfully and she suddenly dropped towards the ground, his hold on her wrists the only thing keeping her up. She let out another horrible cry, the pull he had on her arm clearly too much for her to bear. He flinched, lowering it to her side and holding her up pathetically by the waist.

"Is it broken?" he asked flatly, grimacing as the sound of her scream flashed again in his memory.

"I don't know…" she said quietly, he hardly heard her over the sudden gust of frozen wind. She grabbed onto his shirt with her good arm, trying to pull her self back up again and he tried to lift her but she was pushing him away, wanting to stand on her own two feet. He wouldn't let her.

"You have no idea, do you! What you've just done!" she gushed suddenly, staring at him with such mirth he thought it might cripple her "That file…it was the only thing I had left, the only hope I had of getting out of here!"

He ignored her. He couldn't possibly argue this point with her, the state she was in. The state they were both in.

"All you had to do was keep quiet about it…the one thing I asked you to do for me, _one thing!_"

His breathing had gradually become laboured, and his head fell back for a moment in agony, but he pulled himself together, pulled her towards him roughly again shook her slightly, not caring how much pain the two of them were in.

"Will you just shut up for five minutes and get a _fucking grip!_" he spat at her in a rage, ignoring the moan she let out. "We are the middle of _bloody nowhere_ and all you can do is fucking scream at me!"

"I could have taken it..." she said again, staring at him with venom before repeating it in a scream. "I could have taken it!"

"_Well I couldn't!"_

It had burst out of him in a fury that he couldn't control, and she shut her mouth abruptly, pain in her eyes. They stood there in silence for a long, agonising moment, the only sound the ferocious wind coupled by the pounding of his heart and the sounds of her screams apparently trapped inside his head. The more he thought about it the more sickened he was that he'd let it go on for as long as it did…

She sniffed loudly, and clamped her teeth together, shaking in his arms in the cold air, and he wished he had his coat or jacket or something, anything, to wrap around her but he was just stood there in his bloodstained shirt and trousers, and his boots. She had no shoes at all. He couldn't even lift her off the ground. She'd catch her fucking death…

With desperation he scanned the area, looking for some source of light- and he found one, thank Christ, he saw the lights ahead on the road about half a mile away. A village or something. Where the hell were they? They could be miles outside of London…they could be in fucking Wales for all he knew…

He turned his gaze back to the woman in his arms- and his heart lurched painfully to a stop in his chest as he saw the expression on her too pale face. She looked like she was seconds away from death.

"Alex." he tried, shaking her again slightly but she made no reaction, just stared blankly at a space on his arm and continued to tremble terribly. He bent down slightly so they were at eye level. "Alex…look at us, love…"

Her head snapped back upwards and she stared at him in a daze. Like she'd only just noticed him standing there. He swallowed and stared into her eyes imploringly.

"Listen…" he began hesitantly "We've gotta get you out of the cold alright? There's lights over there…we're gonna have to walk…they'll be a pub or B&B or summink, it's gotta be about half a mile. Okay? _You_ are gonna have to walk; I can't carry you…"

His voice seemed to break slightly on that last utterance and he'd never felt weaker in his entire life but he pushed it aside. She didn't seem to be listening to him, just nodding her head dumbly and staring straight through him.

"Alex." he said again, firmly, lifting a hand up to cup her face "I can't carry you, alright?"

She stared at him oddly again and, before he could stop her, she shoved herself away from him, staggering forwards before finding her feet. Holding her bad arm to her chest she began to stride towards where the road began. He wasn't sure if she'd make it all the way there. She had no shoes, he remembered. And that image, for some reason, was more torturing than any of the others.

***

_Saturday 23rd February 1982_

_1:47am_

She was staring at him from her position on the bed and he leant back in the chair, in a strange portrait of apparent relaxation. He was far from relaxed however; he was over- tired, that strange feeling you got when you needed sleep but couldn't get anywhere near it, couldn't ignore the constant pulse of blood pounding throughout your body. He stared back at her, in private misery, the sight making his head swim.

"I'm sorry." she whispered, her voice hoarse and scratching her throat. He felt his own throat tighten. "I'm sorry."

"Go to sleep." he said, exhausted, and he rubbed his eyes, leaning forward again, his elbows on his knees. He couldn't get comfortable.

"I shouldn't have said those things to you..."

"Just go to sleep," he muttered again, not caring what she had to say because he'd forgiven her already. Her position on the bed made it look like she was reaching out to him, her arm stretched to the side towards him and her gaze fixed on his. He had the urge to take her hand; but he knew she only had it there because it was in unthinkable pain. He glanced at it. It looked swollen...if it was broken she needed it checked out...

"I don't think it's broken," she said, reading his thoughts. He lifted his eyes back to hers, suddenly and stupidly hopeful, because she couldn't know for sure if it was broken or not. "It would hurt more if it was. It feels better."

"You sure?"

"I broke my arm when I was younger...fell out of a tree." She smiled slightly at the memory. "God, I was in complete agony. I think I almost passed out...Evan was so cross with me, but more worried than angry in the end."

The sentence registered as odd but at first he couldn't fathom why. Then something nudged his memory.

"Evan?"

She seemed to freeze for a split second, and then looked at him strangely. After this evening of dark, endless agony, of secrets and lies and hidden thoughts, of terror, it seemed like she was about to let everything go. Perhaps she thought she couldn't be broken anymore. Perhaps her secrets were too gruelling for him to even understand.

Perhaps he'd worked it out long ago, he was smart enough to fit it all together after all...but never allowed himself to acknowledge that kind of madness.

Because that was what this was. Their lives, how they had inexplicably become meshed together, bound as though fate itself was behind their every step. Thoughts like that...it was utter madness.

She'd closed her eyes, seemingly on the verge of sleep, but she opened her mouth hesitantly to speak.

"Do you love me, Gene?"

He wasn't sure what he felt as her words registered. He stared at her levelly, unmoving, his eyes feeling heavy, his entire body shutting down. He didn't want to speak; he couldn't force any words out. He wasn't overcome with emotion, or on the verge of tears, or even hurting anymore. Then he felt his chest tighten, his eyes sting. He knew what she was thinking. They'd already been through too much tonight, so why not dredge up the rest of their issues, or more specifically the one burning issue that had plagued him for the last year and a half.

Plague. That was the right word. It was killing him.

"Love." he muttered, almost disbelievingly, unsure exactly where he was going. "Is that what you want from me?"

"I don't _want_ anything."

There was a heavy pause.

"Why are you asking me?" he asked, his voice surprisingly thick. She was slipping into sleep, delirium, her eyes still closed. But she answered him anyway.

"I just want to hear you say it I suppose. To know for sure."

He remained silent, a dark, intense expression on his face as though he was thinking it through but of course he already knew the truth. He leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his head drop.

"This life..." he said, not quite sure where he was going but finding a strange certainty behind his words. His voice was low, slurred slightly through exhaustion. "My life. It's been nothing but one disaster after another. You think you're doing something, summink meaningful, summink worth while. You think you know exactly where you stand. And then someone comes along and..."

He was looking at his feet and he squirmed suddenly, his throat becoming tight as he realised what he was saying, what he was saying to her. He felt like laughing but ended up just gritting his teeth together, shaking his head.

"It's just a joke." he said quietly with a bitter smile, a slight darkness in his words. He kept his eyes locked on the carpet beneath his feet. "What difference does it even make. Everyone I...they just end up dead, or broken. I lose em all eventually."

Finally, he lifted his head so he could look at her.

Her eyes were closed, quiet sighs slowly escaping her. She was out.


End file.
